Go. Read. Then come back.
---------
There is, in me, a restlessness, an appetite for darkness. It's the part of me that thrills at the wind in the trees on a moonlit night. The part that tingles with dread as leaf creatures skitter across the path and chase my footsteps in the inky autumn night. It is the tug that pulls me, as Poppy says, from hearth and home, and out into the twilight, to find myself somewhere out there in the shadows.
I'm a good girl... most of the time. I am happiest knowing that a Top is pleased with me, that they cherish and feel protective of me, and the rewards for being on my best behavior are doubly sweet, when they come with a satisfied smile, perhaps a hint of pride. I like being good.
But there's also that midnight ink that runs in my veins. It's dark, and thick and blackest-black. It can spill over in a moment, and I can be impish. I can taunt and tease. I love to shiver at the hungry growl that lives in the throat of a Top, to tremble at the flames of desire that dance in his eyes. I thrill at the sudden rush that prickles my skin as he pins my arms against the wall, and whispers his commands through teeth laid against my bare neck. I long for him to push me to the edge, to watch me shudder, and dance with fear, knowing I can trust his strength.
I confess, there has always been a sort of delicious dread that fills me when I recall Shakespeare's Macbeth, and the lines "By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes." and "Double, double, toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble." I'm not sure why it is, but a part of me loves the music in these words. I think perhaps, it may be the poet who lives in my darkness; she whispers to me with glee when I read Edgar Allan Poe, dancing, floating, swimming in the cadence of his words.
There is a woman in me that is much the way Poppy described...
"Maybe sometimes she has children now but she has a life away from them as well. Maybe she loves but does not obey without question. Maybe she walks her own path, thinks her own thoughts; she has the distinct smell of trouble about her. Maybe she is so restless at night because she has such dreams of desire that they will not let her rest."
There is a woman in me who must go after a life of my own, who must find her freedom, and assert her independence, who acknowledges her own hunger, and seeks to have it fed. She is a woman who needs to look into the eyes of man, and find looking back a recognition of her strength, her intelligence, her dangerous nature--yes, a celebration of these things. She needs a power she can rise to, can match and yet surrender to. She also, needs strong sister friends, who revel in their own strength and beauty, who accept their own darknesses, who can stand in the light of the full moon, and make peace with their demons.
And so, on this autumn evening, I venture out into the darkness... and inward too, to meet night with night. I am grateful for the spirit of Lilith, if that is who she is, and thankful to Poppy for reminding me that I too, like what I find in the dark.
